Úlvhild placed a catskin-booted foot on the first frozen stair and began the treacherous ascent beside Haldor, his strong grip steady in her shaking hand. Far above them, a fortress of ice andcrystal glimmered like a crown of frozen stars.
“Watch your step,” Ólaf hollered over the thunderous roar of the waterfall which tumbled from a precipice overhead to their left. “TheLyravélmist makes the stones slick.”
Indeed, a cascade of crystalline water fell from the heights of the ice fortress, concealing the mouth of a secret cave. As she climbed the slippery steps and passed by the hidden hollow, Úlvhild peered into its mysterious depths.
And felt a pulse of power at the glimpse of glowing runes.
After what felt like hours of endless trudging, they finally arrived at the top of the stone stairs before a great arch of translucent blue ice,etched with ancient runes, in a courtyard rimmed with frosted ashwood trees and silvery mist. Two Elven sentinels clad in scale armor of shimmering leather, luminous faces aglow behind masks like blindfolded gods, flanked an enormous gate forged from frosted steel.
Ólaf removed his leather glove and approached, extending his bare hand face up.
One of the sentinels stepped forward. Without speaking, theLjósálfarguard placed gloved fingers against Ólaf’s palm. And as the runes across the gate flared to life with an iridescent glow, the frosted wrought iron gate swung open.
The towering sentinel, clad in ice-burnisheddragonscalearmor and bearing a blade that shimmered like winter moonlight, led them beneath the arch of the outer gate into aluminous courtyard, where the stone underfoot was black rock veined with silver light. Columns of clear ice rose like frozen trees, reaching toward the open sky, and delicate frost flowers bloomed amidst beds of pure white snow. Light from the pale morning sun filtered down through the high clifftop towers, reflecting across the crystal spires and casting vivid colors across the translucent walls.
“Welcome toÍslyra.” TheLjósálfarsentinel gestured to the imposing arched doors which led into the royal crystal fortress. Carved from glacial ice the color of moonstone, the elegant entrance was etched with Elven runes of silver filigree and inlaid withgildirstarstones, like thebrooches which fastened the cloaksand adorned the pommels ofdaggers and swords carried by Lugh, Ildris, Olvir and the otherLjósálfarwarriors among Njörd’s men. Withdrawing an intricately detailed silver instrument shaped like the horn of a ram, embellished with moonstones,gildirstarstones, and Elven runes, theLjósálfarsentinel placed it to his clean shaven lips and blew three times.
The low musical notes were ethereal and haunting, like wind passing through ancient stone.
From within, the dual doors opened to reveal a floor of polished crystal over frozen fire, the green and violet colors of the northern lights trapped beneath the icy surface. Columns of clear ice supported a vaulted ceiling that mimicked the starry night sky, withgildirgems and threads of silver reflecting light from the narrow windows which lined the towering walls. Delicate runes spiraled up the pillars, glowing softly as theLjósálfarsentinelapproached, as if recognizing and responding to his Light Elven blood.
In the elegant throne room, severalLjósálfarattendants stood beside the seated queen, whose opalescent skin shimmered like moonlit snow. Pale blonde hair, soft as spun gold, tumbled in long waves to her slender waist. Her silvery gown and gossamer sleeves were embroidered along the curved neckline and above the elbows with runes of pale violet and ice blue, embellished withgildirgemstones that sparkled like captured stars. A slender crown of Elven silver, adorned with glistening gems and etched with runes, sat upon her golden head.
When the arrivals entered the throne room and bowed before theLjósálfarQueen, Ólaf One-Eye’s gruff voice echoed in the silent hall. “Queen Íssla,” he announced with a formal bow, the wolf tattoo on his right forearm catching the incandescent light. “The White Wolf has returned. To reclaim his father’s Dwarven sword.”
Íssla’s regal gaze fixed upon on Njörd. Her breath hitched and her beautiful face crumpled, overwhelmed with years of grief and sudden joy.Rising from her crystalline throne, she rushed forward, silver skirts sweeping across the frosted floor, to welcome her prodigal son.
Tenderly, she caressed his bearded face, tears spilling down her smiling cheeks. “You look so much like your father,” she whispered with awe, running her hands over Njörd’s broad shoulders, caressing the white fur of the wolfskin cloak. She pulled him into a fierce maternal hug, cradling his dark head against her pale breast. “You have come to reclaimÚlfsongr.” She kissed his thick, braided hair. “I have kept it safe, as I promised Brökk,” she whispered. “It has waited for you all these winters… just as I have.”
Njörd lingered in her embrace for a few moments, then raised his head and stepped back, grasping his mother’s glowing hand. “Móðir,” he murmured, raising Íssla’s slender fingers to his bearded lips, “there is much to say, but little time. First, you must meet my betrothed.” He reached for Elfi, standing behind him, and brought her forward to greet his mother. “This is Elfi Thorfinnsdóttir. The Heiress of Étretat. She and I must marry at once, for thevölva,”he said, gesturing to Úlvhild, “has foreseen thatDökkálfarand Rus raiders will soon attack. To stealÚlfsongr, and prevent me from fulfilling the prophecy. And to abduct Elfi—so the Frankish count intent upon seizing her father’s castle can acquire it through a forced marriage to his daughter. We must marry this very evening. And prepare for the impending battle.”
Queen Íssla inhaled deeply and nodded, regaining her royal composure. “Welcome, daughter of two realms,” she said, smiling as she took hold of Elfi’s hands. “You carry Njörd’s child, andLjósálfarblood blooms in your womb.” Íssla kissed Elfi on each cheek. “But I sense another magic in you as well.”
“My mother was a billow maiden mermaid,”Elfi replied with a soft smile. “And I inherited hersjóvættirmagic.” She looked up at Njörd, who fervently kissed her hand. “I carry the thrice-blessed daughter of theWolf of the Nordic Seas. Our child has thesjóvættirblood of my grandmother, the Sea Goddess Rán.” Elfi beamed at Queen Íssla. “She has yourLjósálfarbloodas well. And the Volsung blood of Odin, through yourÚlfhéðnarhusband, Njörd’s father Brökk.”
“The thrice-blessed daughter of theWolf of the Nordic Seas,”Íssla whispered, running a gentle hand down Elfi’s long, golden brown locks. “I cannot wait to hold her.” She smiled, lost in reverie, then turned toward Ólaf, the commanding queen once again.
“Ólaf, the wedding shall be held here tonight, beneath the starlit vault. A feast will follow. Let our halls remember joy, before war returns to our gates. Arrange for roasted meats, root vegetables, fresh fish, and barley bread for the humans andÚlfhéðnar,while my attendants prepare proper fare for theLjósálfar.”The queen turned to her maids and guards, her voice rising like wind through crystal. “Ready the halls. Prepare the rites. Let the fortress ofÍslyrasparkle and shine.”
Íssla spoke to theLjósálfarsentinel who had escorted them into the throne room. “See that our guests’ trunks are brought up from the beach. They will be lodged here for the wedding and the feast.”
Úlf stepped forward, his grey wolfskin cloak damp with sea mist. “Queen Íssla,” he said, bowing slightly. “Allow myÚlfhéðnarto guide your men. Our ships carried much—and only we know which trunks are needed.”
Íssla gave a nod, regal and efficient. “Very well. But the mountain path is narrow. Be cautious on the slick stone steps.”
As the wolf warriors departed with Ólaf One-Eye and theLjósálfarsentinel, the queen spoke to Haldor, Úlvhild, and Sif. “My attendants will show you to guest quarters here in the fortress. Since you carry neitherLjósálfarblood nor magic, you cannot accompany us toÁlfheim.”She smiled at Njörd. “For that is where I have kept your father’s sword all these winters. Come, the portal is behind theLyravélwaterfall. Through the cave to the crystal bridge.”
Chapter 17
Shadowbound Spy
Bodo descended the winding stone stairwell with Úlf, Njáll, Flóki, and Hrólf Redbeard, back down to the black sandy beach and the bustling trade center of Ólafsvik. As he followed Ólaf One-Eye and four of the queen’sLsósálfarsentinels toward the teeming docks where theirdrakkarships were moored, he spotted Óttar Skov seated around the firepit in front of Úlfskál with several of Njörd’s Danish warriors. At the sight of theÚlfhéðnarandLjósálfarroyal guards headed toward their ships, Njörd’s crewmen sprang to their feet and rushed forward to help unload the trunks and personal items to be carried up to theÍslyrafortress. As the men scrambled and shouted, hurrying past him, Bodo approached Óttar Skov, who motioned for him to follow as he disappeared into the dark alley behind the blacksmith shop.
Bodo trailed the spy past the bellowing forge, where the roaring fire belched through a chimney and sparks leapt into the shadows. Óttar lurked beside a low stone wall behind the smithy near troughs of filthy water, scattered tools, and scraps of discarded metal.
“Has Njörd claimed the Dwarven blade?” The continuous clang of the hammer on anvil and the roar of forge cloaked the Varangian warrior’s husky voice.
“The queen is taking him toÁlfheim,once the trunks are delivered to the castle. She has hidden it there all these years, awaiting his return.” Bodo cast an uneasy look over his shoulder, concerned that he might have been followed.
